When I reached the entrance of the hall, though, I hung back, concealed in a shadow. I had a clear vantage point of the hall and could see Nura and Olivette limned in firelight as they paced, waiting for the dream to appear. I sensed Phelan was nearby, but I could no longer see him.
I tarried in the shadow, the stone wall rough and cold against my back.
“I’m not surprised to find you here,” Phelan said, his voice emerging from the darkness on my right.
“I could say the same about you.”
We stood in awkward silence together, close enough to sense the other but far enough away to have no chance of touching.
“Did you sleep this afternoon?” he asked.
Did you dream was what he meant.
“Yes,” I replied. “Did you?”
He was quiet for a beat, and then said in a husky voice, “Yes. I did as well.”
Another round of silence. I watched as Nura and Olivette grew weary of pacing the hall, choosing to sit on the edge of a table. They hadn’t slept; I could see the exhaustion in their faces.
“Is your brother coming to fight tonight?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
You should, I thought, biting the inside of my lip. I didn’t desire to see Lennox take this duchy and restore it back to life. But I had no doubt he would believe himself to be the best candidate.
I was opening my mouth to say something snide when I felt a rush of air. Phelan was in the shadow with me, and our arms brushed as he whispered, “Anna.”
He had never said my faux name like that, with urgent awe. And I swiftly learned why, when I saw the dream that manifested in the hall.
I was walking the streets of Endellion.
I stopped before a mirror in a storefront, to look upon my reflection.
This was my dream.
Heat spread through me like a fever. Mortification and dread unfurled in my thoughts, and for a moment I could only stand and helplessly gape as I watched my nightmare overtake the hall. I started to rush forward, only to be stopped by Phelan.
“Wait,” he hissed into my hair.
I froze until I remembered that Olivette’s father appeared in the dream as a sinister force. And Olivette was in the hall, watching everything with wide eyes.
I pulled away and Phelan let me go.
I entered the hall; I stepped into my dream.
It was like treading a river, one that deepened with each step. The currents tugged me toward myself, this terrifying flesh-and-blood copy of Anna. What would she do if I caught her attention, if our eyes met? What would I do?
I was relieved that I had not taken that bejeweled dagger, that I had not exposed my true self. Nothing about this dream gave me away as Clem, although it did mention my secret and it raised suspicions about Olivette’s father.
We had nearly reached the end of the dream. The armor shone and dripped blood.
“Father?” Olivette cried, staring at Mr. Wolfe holding the axe.
I knew she was caught up in this dream just as I was, struggling to tell what was real and what was fantasy. She saw her father and thought it was truly him, arriving to assist in fighting the nightmare.
“Olivette!” I called to her, hurrying to close the gap between us. My friends didn’t know this dream like I did. I was the only one who held the advantage.
The sound of my voice drew dream Anna’s and Mr. Wolfe’s attention. The moment they looked at me, I was overwhelmed. I sank to my knees, dazed as if I had been struck across the face.
Nura was the one of us who responded.
She cast a defensive spell as Mr. Wolfe approached with the axe. Her magic arced with blue light, finding its mark in his chest. The smith stumbled back but did not fall. It roused his anger and he moved faster.
“Wait, Nura,” Olivette shouted. “It could be him!”
“This isn’t your father, Oli,” Nura said, hurling another charm to slow him down.
I could feel my pulse in my ears as I rose.
Olivette was shouting and Nura’s magic was teeming in the air, scorching Mr. Wolfe’s clothes, burning his skin. But he continued to press us, swinging his axe.
Nura blocked it with a charm and attempted to wrench the axe from his grip. Her magic rebounded and tossed her back a few yards. She landed lithely on her feet several tables away, and I saw the tension in her face as Olivette attempted to speak to Mr. Wolfe’s phantom.
“Father, lower the axe,” she said.
He swung.
Olivette gasped and lurched backward, scrounging up a magical shield, but the edge of the blade sliced her raised forearm. Nura launched herself over the tables, teeth bared as she struck Mr. Wolfe again with more force. He stumbled, granting her enough time to ease Olivette up and away safely out of his range.
Phelan appeared. He engaged with the smith so Nura could continue retreating with Olivette, who was weeping, her forearm leaving a trail of blood on the flagstones.
We were all so distracted by Mr. Wolfe’s attack that we forgot about Anna.
I glanced to where the shade of myself continued to stand by the bloody armor. I saw the gleam of gold at Anna’s breast, the jewel she wore about her neck.
I was the key to ending this dream. My stone heart was the weakness, the break. It had to be broken, and as soon as I realized this, Anna began to retreat from the hall.
I pursued her.
I didn’t realize Phelan was chasing after me until I was about to slip out the side door Anna had vanished through. I felt his magic encircle me, slowing me down.
“Wait,” he panted, reaching my side. His magic loosened, and I spun to look up at him. “Let me come with you. Let me guard your back.”
I entertained the temptation, because the more I realized I would have to give my phantom a mortal wound, the stronger my reservations grew. But when I looked at Phelan . . . I knew he would struggle in wounding this reflection of me as well.
“Help Nura and Olivette to their chamber and lock the door,” I said. “Quickly, before Mr. Wolfe reaches them. I will meet you there after I bring this to an end.”
My words struck a chord between us.
We glanced at the dais, where the duke’s throne had appeared, illumined by a stream of moonlight. Emrys stood beside the regal chair, an observer as the night unfolded. His face was like marble, unreadable, but he was watching Phelan and me, watching Nura, Olivette, and Mr. Wolfe. Watching and waiting to see if this dream would break.
I slipped from the hall; Phelan didn’t follow me this time.
The corridors were cold and dark, punctured by the flickering light of sconces. I followed the trail Anna left for me, sounds of her boots on the stone floors, a flicker of movement as she rounded corner after corner. She was leading me deeper into the fortress, down to the very heart of the mountain. In my dream, I had felt lost. And that sensation welled within me once more.
I must have chased her for an hour, through every vein of the fortress.
I walked through the dark kitchen, through dusty storerooms, through the armory, where swords and crossbows and shields hung on the wall, glinting in the dim light. Through a library with endless shelves of musty books. Through rooms and suites long abandoned.
I stopped in the main corridor, thinking she was about to bring me back into the hall. I stood ragged, bewildered. Surrender was softening me until she appeared at the end of the passage, waiting for me to follow.
I no longer ran. I walked, which gave me the chance to draw my dagger from my boot. I slid the steel free from its leather sheath and held it in my hand, following Anna into a spacious suite.